Kairos
by cocoartist
Summary: He'd watched the swotty Gryffindor for years, jealously nursing his lust. [There is a plot but only vaguely] [MA]
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this a long time ago and published it over on Granger Enchated. This is a slightly edited version.

* * *

Kairos and tide wait for no man. In the Greek tongue, there are two words for time: chronos and kairos. The first means time as the sun passes through the heavens. But kairos means the necessary moment - the critical instant when one must catch the tide or be swept under and utterly destroyed.

Katherine Neville _The Magic Circle_

* * *

He watched her as she sat with her little friends, delicately eating her cheesecake. Her tongue ran lightly over her lips as she removed the sweet crumbs. Plump, pouting lips. He shifted slightly in his seat and then scowled as she started laughing at something the Red Headed Moron said.

Adrian hated Weasley, had done from the moment he'd walked into the Prefects' carriage with her at the beginning of the previous year.

She was a filthy little Mudblood, but she was brilliant and beautiful, and he fully intended to fuck her before the year was out. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining her pouting lips wrapped around him, those wide brown eyes looking up…

But that would be almost impossible. The revolting little Gryffindorks followed her around like bodyguards. On the upside, they'd always seemed relatively unaware that she was an extremely ravishable witch, as much as the Weasel himself wanted her.

Certainly they didn't notice the sly glances of invitation Granger got from so many of the Hogwarts boys. He frowned again. That was a recent development, he was sure.

They'd all been so blind until recently. _He'd_ noticed long ago, when she was a swotty fourth year running around helping her nauseating friend with the Triward Tournament.

Krum had noticed her then, too. Adrian's face darkened, and the roll he was holding splintered in his hand. Fucking Krum. Until that damned ball, he'd thought Granger was safe, protected from all the greasy little boys by a pile of books and her baggy robes.

She'd still been too young to touch then. He'd been able to look though, watch her fifteen year old innocence blossom into awareness.

He wished he knew for certain that she was still a virgin. How revolting, the idiot Weasley was staring at her again, practically drooling.

Fortunately, he seemed to think that flirting with the Brown girl- a boring, silly little witch who came to his Head's Office and _prattled_ occasionally- was the way to make Granger notice him. He'd started the previous day, Adrian had noted, perhaps after the Quidditch match.

Granger was so far above the Weasel it was ridiculous. Poor, stupid and ugly, Adrian couldn't see anything to attract the delectable little sixth year to her friend. Still, watching her watch the Weasley left him in no doubt as to her feelings.

He needed to get her alone soon, though. He had never wanted anything so much… His train of thought was interrupted by someone sitting down in the seat beside him.

"Evening Ades," a deliberately husky voice purred.

"Miranda," he sighed. Glamorous, willowy and blonde, the Slytherin seventh year Prefect was certainly a head-turner. But he knew she promised more than she delivered. She was rather a disappointment in bed, truth be told. She was submissive enough, though, which had its advantages.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something after patrol tonight, Adrian?" Her voice was laced with innuendo, and he had to admit he was tempted. But he looked over at the little brunette who occupied his thoughts far too often and knew it wouldn't ease the ache only taking Hermione Granger could soothe.

"I was actually thinking of annoying the little Gryffindors tonight. Potter and Weasley are getting on my last nerve." And it was true, they were. Especially the Weasel. They never seemed to leave her side, sending glowering looks to any male who tried to take Hermione's attention away from them.

He'd been waiting for months now. He'd been attracted to her, noticed her, felt possessive for over two years, but he'd never actually intended to do anything about it. She was Mudblood. He was supposed to look but never never touch…

Now, though, now he had to mark her. Declare that she was _his_ to all the boys who stared at her, longing to give the bookworm a whole new sort of lesson. Except he couldn't. Even if he took her (and he would, he had to) it would have to be their secret.

His dubious allegiance was dubious for a reason: he wanted no part in the forthcoming war, and he refused to declare his loyalties in any manner. Although he believed in Pureblood superiority, it hardly a cause he would die for. She would die for what she believed in, he knew. She'd willingly risked her life already, when she was a tiny brat with too much hair and he hadn't even known her name.

He couldn't comprehend it; there was nothing on earth he believed worth dying for. Nothing had ever earned that loyalty or sacrifice from him.

Her tongue flicked over her lips again and the thoughts fled from his mind. If only the stupid, poncy little prats would leave her alone for a moment. He'd never have believed their tenacity or the closeness of the three if he hadn't been trying to get her alone for almost a term. All he'd wanted to do since the beginning of September was take her away to his Head Boy's rooms just outside the Slytherin dungeons, and show her exactly why she should stay draped across his dark green sheets and never leave.

.

.

.

Pucey was watching her again, Hermione noted. It _should_ have been creepy - like when Malfoy watched her, with hatred burning in his eyes. Or when Crabbe and Goyle turned up and glowered, as though they were just waiting to get her alone and humiliate her, hurt her. Pucey never looked quite like that though. It was a different sort of disturbing, having _his_ eyes on her.

Thankfully either Ron, Harry or both were always with her, even in the library now, curled up learning new spells; anything to aid them in the fight against Voldemort. Although after the previous night she wasn't sure she wanted Ron there for a while!

She risked a glance over to the Slytherin table and saw the Head Boy talking to Miranda Greene, who was probably the most beautiful girl in the seventh year. She sighed and turned her head back to the boys. She wasn't talking to Ron, but Harry was, so he sat in between them and pretended nothing was wrong.

"Won-Won!" an overjoyed voice called out. Hermione looked up in disgust, her appetite suddenly gone. What a ridiculous nickname. It was embarrassing, absurd.

"Er, hi Lavender," Ron muttered, ears red. She shoved her way in between him and Hermione and began to kiss him.

Hermione felt sick, betrayed, hurt and, more than anything else, furiously angry. She'd waited for Ron to wake up for so bloody long and now he was choosing to stick his tongue down Lavender's throat? It was despicable.

The first time had been bad enough, but that could be forgiven as the heat of the moment… but to carry on!

Well, that was fine. Just fine. She stood and left the hall, unaware of the penetrating grey-green eyes following her and the tall boy who trailed her after a few moments.

She didn't go to the library, knowing it would be the first place Harry would look for her. Instead, she walked down to the lake. It was getting dark, the November night had draw in, and she stared back up at the castle looming high over the water, with its windows glowing merrily in defiance of the awesome spectacle.

It could have been Dracula's castle, almost, surrounded by forests and mountains, stark against the darkening grey-black of the sky.

Hermione was surprised to find herself close to tears. It was ridiculous. Ron wasn't worth it; she'd been waiting for so long and if he really liked her, he'd have made it clear by then. Definitely not just have run off and started kissing Lavender- of all people. Just because he'd found out she'd kissed Victor. She'd kissed three other boys, actually, not that Ron or Harry would know because they never seemed to take any interest in her Muggle home life. They'd never, ever asked about it.

She hurried down the steep path, almost hidden in the cliff-face, to her most private place. No one else ever seemed to come here, and she doubted anyone even knew about it. It was a largish ledge, with a shallow hollow at the back. Not quite a cave, but enough to give some shelter from the icy November wind sweeping down off the mountains.

She spread her winter cloak out on the ground and sat, staring down over the scene laid out below. The rock-face was almost vertical, a couple of hundred feet of terrifying drop into the restless black waters of the lake, which tossed uneasily in the wind. She let the chill wind blow her hair back and send the cold trickling down her spine in icy droplets, reveling in the freshness on her skin, the vital, elevating feeling of being alive.

The sky loomed threateningly overhead, turbulent clouds barely holding back the rain, and Scottish mist had crept around the peaks of the mountains. She began to shiver, the tears turning cold on her face as she tried to think rationally and clear the image of Ron and Lavender from her head.

It really was a foul image for anyone; the kisses looked so… slobbery. She shuddered in disgust and suddenly felt better.

* * *

The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,

Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.

You could not tell, and yet it looked as if

The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,

The cliff in being backed by continent;

It looked as if a night of dark intent

Was coming, and not only a night, an age.

Someone had better be prepared for rage.

[Robert Frost]

* * *

Adrian stared down at her, curled up on the ledge. He'd had a moment of senseless panic when he'd seen her heading for the cliff, which had made him question the depth of his attraction to the girl. But then he'd pushed away those silly little questions and was now poised half-way down the path she'd taken, considering.

Here was a chance he'd possibly never have again; the Mudblood was all alone, too far for anyone to hear them, and hidden from sight. Her overly aggressive Gryffindor shadows had vanished, as had the possibility of anyone who was actually remotely threatening or important seeing them.

And, alone, she would be much easier to bend to his will. He could hardly throw her against a wall and fuck her clever little brains out if the bodyguards were watching. Now, though, now he had a chance.

It was dark, the moon a silver glow behind thick, swirling clouds, and he smiled, allowing the night winds to sweep over his body. He waved his wand in a circular motion, and sent a dozen tiny orbs of golden light to hover around her.

She stirred, and then jumped to her feet, wand out. Her admired her quick reactions for a moment and then continued his silent path in the shadows. The path was cut into the rock, and he had to feel his way carefully in the darkness, unwilling to give away his position to her just yet by casting a light.

"Who's there?" her voice was clear, confident. She had guts for such a young and inexperienced witch, he had to grant that. He kept silent until he had to step out into the light that now bathed the ledge.

"Hello, Granger," he said softly. "Nice evening for a walk."

She took a step back, towards the cliff behind her and he was grateful she was that tiny bit further from the edge.

"What do you want, Pucey?"

He shrugged and smiled slowly at her. "I followed you from the hall. Now, don't be like that Granger, I won't bite." In a lightning move, he disarmed her, casually catching her wand with a sly wink. "That's better."

She backed up quickly, instinct taking over, and only stopped when she felt the hard comfort of the stone against her back. He stood, facing her silently, and she stared back at him. Why was he there? What did he want with her? What could he possibly have followed her for? She felt dazed and warm, and her reactions seemed to be slowing down.

He was so beautiful in the golden light, painfully so. His skin was honeyed, dark blond hair tousled in the wind, grey-green eyes dark with some emotion she couldn't read. The shadows danced across his face, as dark as the tossing waters beneath. The hairs on her arms and neck prickled with tension and her spine tingled, heat shooting to her centre.

"Don't run from me, kitten. Come here." He offered his hand and she tilted her head.

"Why? What do you want?" She felt out of control, as though some force greater than herself was ruling her she wanted him. She fought to hold herself back from walking towards him, and contain the desire surging in her, unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

He rolled his eyes and tried to push back the flood of primal lust that rose like a great force of nature within him. It wouldn't be much longer, after all. Her eyes were wide, her back up against the wall, and he knew he had to be cautious with her. Suddenly he didn't want to take her in a brief moment where lust overpowered them both. He wanted to take her, ravish her all night, learn the ways of her body and show her how beautiful pleasure could be.

"I want you, my pretty kitten. I've wanted you for so long. Now, come here."

Hermione had to fight the blush that rose over her cheeks, and the sudden light-headedness that came with his presence, his intense stare. She half-stepped a little closer and stopped, but it was enough for Adrian, who closed the distance between them before she could think.

He was too close, much too close, and his hands were wrapping in her hair, coiling it around his wrists like a leash. He stared deep into her eyes for a moment and muttered something. Then the golden lights were gone, the safety of their warm brightness sucked into the darkness of the night and growing turmoil of the wind.

And then his lips were on hers and it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, and she responded at the first brutal demand for entry. He invaded her mouth, and plundered, taking every shred of self-control she had. Hard and challenging and powerful, filling her up and up. He pushed her against the cruel jagged stone wall, but the pain added to the heady, drunken sense of his mouth and tongue and hands. She couldn't help press against the hardness of his body, and he thrust back against her.

"My pretty little Mudblood," he whispered, pulling his mouth away from hers. She whimpered at the loss, her mind too clouded to register his comment, and then his teeth and lips were on her neck. "Need you," he hissed, harshly pulling on her hair.

She blindly pressed against him, begging for his lips, but he laughed lowly and pulled away from her, sliding a hand up her thigh instead.

"I've wanted you for so long, Granger." He pressed his fingers against her, rubbing through the thin lace.

"Adrian, please," she gasped, taken past the point of coherent thought by the unbearable need for more, for something she couldn't articulate.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against her neck, biting her harder. She cried out in pain and he moaned involuntarily.

"Please," she gasped, lost in the sensation and her raw need to feel his fingers inside her. She had never felt like this, never. It was humiliating but she felt reckless and brave and she didn't care.

He pushed them inside her, too fast, too roughly, and she cried out in delicious pain. His fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they moved in and out, scraping against her, his other hand coming down to pinch her clit cruelly. She felt something building in her as he plunged faster, kissing away her moans. And then he stopped, his eyes black holes in the darkness, and laughed his husky laugh again.

"Adrian," she stammered, almost incoherent with lust.

"Come to my room tonight," he ordered her. "Let me teach you how beautiful your body is, show you how much I want you… Say yes, Hermione."

Her name on his lips, his commanding drawl, his words, were almost too much, and she bucked desperately against his hand. "Yes, yes- please- I'll come. Please." He began to move his fingers inside her again, faster and faster, until she reached the height of her pleasure.

She was almost sobbing when he finally allowed her release, and she collapsed against him. He kissed her head gently, surprised by the feeling of compassion that briefly rose up within him, and pulled her to sit back down on her cloak, cuddled against him. Her hair, whipped by the fierce wind, blew against his chest. She was shuddering, from cold or the after-effects of her orgasm, and he pulled her closer. He'd never seen anything more beautiful as the sublime bliss on her face when she crashed over the edge.

"I've wanted you since you were in your fourth year," he said softly. "You were hidden behind this mane of hair and a book, but I noticed you… I was the first one, and then that prat came along," his voice turned bitter, "and you wore that dress and they could all suddenly see you. I've never been so- never mind."

He wouldn't tell her of how fiercely he had taken his date that night, of how he had wanted to curse Krum, of how he'd cursed Malfoy for talking about her in the dungeons after the ball. He wasn't even sure she was listening to him. She felt so tiny in his arms, and although her shuddering had ceased, he could see the goose-bumps rising on her bared legs.

"I can feel you watching me sometimes," she said softly. "Well, I thought I could but I always- I thought I was being silly."

"Why, kitten? You're beautiful. Much too good for the red-haired rodent." He pulled her round to face him and pressed his hot mouth to hers, biting her plump bottom lip hard and deepened the kiss. "I expect you in my room by eleven tonight," he ordered, drawing back.

She hesitated for a moment and then nodded, still feeling dazed, and thrown by his rapid switch between gentle lover and authoritarian master.

""Now go back to the castle. You've got rounds in an hour." It was almost eight o'clock, he realised, glancing at his watch. It had been an hour since he'd left the Hall.

He watched as she silently gathered up her cloak, her tear stains catching what little light there was. He handed her her wand and kissed her one last time, stroking back the dark hair that blew so wildly around her face in the ever-building wind.

He waited until she was out of sight to open his trousers, and at last brought himself relief, as he had so many times over the past two years, thinking of her writhing beneath him, calling his name.

She'd never called him by his first name before that night, and the memory of it on her lips as she came apart was enough to take him over the edge. He cleaned himself with a quick spell and then followed her path up to the castle. Only the towers and the library were brightly lit by now, most students having returned to their own common rooms, and it was hard to see the outline against the storm dark of the night sky.

Hermione returned to the castle in a daze, almost completely unaware of where she was going or what had happened. The memory of his lips and hands and his wicked, green-grey storm eyes held her captive, locked inside a memory on loop of her defences collapsing beneath his skilled touch.

So that was what people got so excited about, she reflected, realising suddenly that she was at the castle doors already, with no memory of walking up the steep cliff-side. The windows of the Great Hall had darkened, and she became conscious of the time like one coming slowly out of a dream, or breaking through the surface of a murky, beautiful lake after a deep dive.

Her breath rushed from her body and she went cold as the ramifications of what had just happened hit her. How could she have been so.. so wanton? And with Pucey, of all people.

Her Head Boy, with whom she'd have to work with for the rest of the school year, seeing him after patrol every three days, and- oh gods had she really promised to go to his room?

And yet while her mind panicked, part of her wanted to go, to experience true desire for the first time, to understand what people made such a fuss about. She wanted to have sex with Adrian Pucey, and the realisation was almost too strong to deny. She could let herself go, loose her inhibitions and do something selfish just once, surely?

Did it really matter that he was a Slytherin? That he was friends with people whose fathers supported Voldemort? That he himself could support Voldemort?

She was a Muggleborn and he had wanted her for years. Heat flooded her at the memory. I've wanted you for so long...

She shivered as she tugged the heavy oak doors open. He'd waited two years; that had to mean something. And he was so authoritative, so assured… so unlike Ron, or even Viktor, or any of the Muggle schoolboys she'd kissed in the holidays. They all seemed so pathetic next to that raw sensuality.

And that was the heart of the matter, really; he understood something that no one else had. He understood, somehow, how to unleash her, to take her, almost instantly, to a place where nothing mattered, where she could lose all the self-conscious vulnerability and just feel.

In the face of that she wasn't sure she would resist, even if he walked around the castle torturing Muggleborn first years. And yet… and yet there was always something holding her back, some cautiousness or fear.

She was outside Gryffindor tower by the time she'd convinced herself that she couldn't go to him, that it would be a terrible betrayal no matter how much he dazzled her senses. She blurted out the password and hurried inside, hoping that no one would notice her absence.

The sight that met her eyes choked her for a moment. Ron and Lavender were entwined on a window seat, sharing their slobbery kisses. Which made her remember his hot, insistent, powerful mouth and the skill with which he had played upon her body, and by doing so she felt the anger evaporate.

Poor Ron wouldn't know how to kiss a girl like that with ten years of practice; some things were ingrained, and Adrian Pucey's sexuality seemed to be one of them. All the girls noticed it; it was no secret that they went to his Head Boy's office on the tiniest excuse just to find some way to flirt with him. He had exactly the combination of beauty and danger she'd always thought girls like Parvati and Faye were pathetic for getting so excited about.

And the revolting sight made her think, contemplate his request once more; she could go to Adrian that night, and then whenever she saw Ron with Lavender she could smile a secret smile and the pain would go away.

Just once, wouldn't hurt. A secret.

"Hermione," Harry called out from his prime seating near the fire. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine, thanks. Never better."

He looked unconvinced but, being Harry, didn't press the issue.

"Aren't you supposed to be patrolling soon?"

"We're nine till ten tonight."

"Oh right." He was silent for a moment and she could sense that he was awkwardly scrabbling for something to say to avoid the huge pink elephant that was sitting on a window seat too close for comfort. "Er, so have you done that essay yet? For err... Flitwick?"

"I handed it in yesterday. All I've got left to do tonight is read that chapter on Severing Hexes for Snape. It's very clever magic you know," she rambled, wondering if he could tell that she'd just had her first ever orgasm with a boy or if he was too oblivious, too Harry, to notice these things.

She thought the latter was probably true, and besides he was watching Ginny, who was writing an essay or notes or a letter on a table in their line of sight. She suddenly realised why they were sitting there and rolled her eyes. "And I just kissed the giant squid, he's really slimy but quite talented," she added.

"Oh right, that's interesting," he muttered.

"Harry just talk to her or something." God, boys were useless. She hated it when Harry didn't listen to her, especially when she might actually have something to tell him. She reached over and took his Defence Against the Dark Arts book to do Snape's prep, as Harry clearly wouldn't be needing it. He ignored her comment, or more likely he didn't hear it, and continued brooding.

Several pages later, she was disturbed from her reading by a tap-tap on the window. A stern looking Eagle owl was beating its wings, fighting the fierce wind, and she watched with slight interest as Ginny huffed and stood up to let it in. It nipped her rudely and flew over to Hermione, holding out its leg even as it berated her with its eyes for making it fly through a storm.

"Thank you," Hermione said, petting it. She leaned over and stole one of Harry's sweets to give to it, wondering who would own such a beautiful creature. She knew the Malfoys had an eagle owl, and she'd seen perhaps three others in the Great Hall occasionally but she didn't think she knew anyone with one.

Except, perhaps it was... _but no, why would he_? Perhaps he'd changed his mind? The writing on the front of the parchment gave nothing away; it just said H Granger in flowing, elegant script. She pulled it open and scanned it.

 _Granger,_

 _The password is uror. If you fail to appear, or are late, you will be punished. Eleven o'clock. My bedroom is located outside the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. I trust you know where to find it?_

 _Oh and Granger, you taste delicious._

 _Adrian_

She flushed slightly as she read the note, ducking behind a curtain of hair to hide the warmth turning her cheeks dusky pink. Uror – she recognised the Latin verb, although she could not remember its meaning, and murmured an excuse to Harry to run upstairs and look it up (anything to avoid questions as to who would be owling her) before she had to patrol with Ron.

Running quickly up to her dormitory, she thanked Merlin that the other girls were elsewhere, and pulled her enormous old dictionary out from her bookshelf, which sagged under the weight of far too many books. It was an ancient thing, of the sort her Prep school Latin Master had threatened them with copying out for punishments: leather-bound with brass corners and faded gilt pages.

She flicked through to the u section, written as v's in the old-fashioned volume and found the word. I burn. Its meaning made her flush and brought confusion with it.

Was he trying to hint something? Was he referencing some line of poetry or spell? She pushed the thought away, and concentrated on the more crucial matter.

Should she go to him? Risk everything for one night of pleasure, with a man who she might later have to fight against?

It was tempting, too tempting, and she read the note again. His self-assured, authoritative tone made her bristle even as it made her yearn for his touch. She would not go.

She was not his toy to summon when he liked. The previous… event would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

She returned to the common room, lost in thought, leaving the note safely tucked into the dictionary on her bed and the red velvet curtains drawn around her four-poster.

Ginny was sitting nearer the fire now, not quite next to Harry but very close, and Ron appeared to have disengaged himself from Lavender for at least that moment and was sitting, grinning widely, talking to Harry.

Unable to stop herself, the tryst that would have to remain secret burning within her, Hermione sat down beside Ginny and began to make idle conversation.

After a few minutes of discussing Dean, and Harry, Hermione asked casually, "What do you think of Adrian Pucey?"

"Pucey?" Ginny replied, sharply. "What about him?"

"Well, I'm not really sure what to make of him… he's quite, um, good-looking isn't he?"

Ginny laughed. "Of course he is, a blind person could see it. Oh, don't tell me you- that's ridiculous. I mean, sorry, no offence but I don't really think you're his type."

She heard what Ginny was trying to tell her: you're a Muggleborn and he's a Slytherin. Don't get your hopes up.

She tossed her luxuriant red hair, so beautiful in the firelight, and lowered her voice. "Look don't get me wrong you're very pretty Hermione, but I think you're better off with - I just don't think he'd look at you twice. Isn't he dating Miranda Greene anyway? She's supposed to be very… experienced."

But he had looked at her; more than that, and had been looking for two years. Furious, Hermione stared into the fire for a moment. Ginny could be so cruel sometimes. She didn't realise, even meant well, but she had a sharp tongue and could be insensitive to peoples' sorest points.

It probably came as a result of having so many brothers, but still…

With her eyes burning, she ducked her head and glanced, embarrassed, at Harry and Ron, who were sitting close by, deeply ensconced in their over-stuffed red armchairs. Ron was smirking but looked a bit pissed off and Harry just looked uncomfortable; they must have overheard.

She felt humiliated, and more insecure and small than she had for a long time. It was hard to believe that these people, her best friends, saw her in such a light.

She was as female as anyone else, and surely not completely undesirable? Why would it be so laughable for someone like Adrian Pucey to want her? Not that she wanted him, she reminded herself firmly.

He was far too domineering and arrogant, not to mention a Slytherin and potentially a future Death Eater.

Hearing the great bell chime nine o'clock, she gasped and stood quickly, catching Ron's eye. He took a detour to kiss the pretty blonde goodbye as though they would be parted for sixty days, instead of sixty minutes, and that nauseous feeling of unworthiness rose up inside her again.

Why had he chosen someone like Lavender over someone like her? Would anyone bother to look past her careless day-to-day dressing, and her bookish nature? Why wasn't she enough? She sighed, trying to shake off the silly thoughts and made her way out of the portrait hole.

. .

.

. .

Patrol with Ron that night was silent and awkward. Neither seemed willing to break the silence or address the obvious issue. Did he think she believed she had a claim on him? Did she believe she had a claim on him?

Hermione could no longer read her feelings in regard to Ron. Seeing him with Lavender certainly hurt, but she didn't know if that was just because her pride was piqued at his choosing someone so immature and frivolous (and, if not unintelligent, at least not particularly interesting) over herself. Or if she was as in love with him as many assumed.

She'd certainly spent enough time that year and even earlier fantasising uselessly, or so she'd thought, about the tawny-haired Slytherin chaser. The recollection of his burning kisses and half-remembered sensations stole into her mind whenever she tried to focus her thoughts on Ron, and the memory of golden lights clustering around her, bathing her in a feeling of warmth and security... the golden lights.

She stopped suddenly, the feeling of near-drunken contentment she had felt briefly on the ledge that evening before he had kissed her chiming a dusty bell somewhere in her mind, which began to race as she continued, murmuring an apology to Ron for stopping.

Her behaviour had certainly been out of the ordinary for her. She'd kissed Viktor, but never quite like that, and some Muggle boys at old school-friends' parties and one on when her elder cousin had persuaded her to go out in Oxford in the summer before she had returned to Hogwarts.

None of those boys had elicited a reaction from her like Adrian Pucey. Was it the lights? She'd read about them, a long time ago - something to do with calming fears, but she couldn't remember which book she had seen them mentioned in.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, making her jump. She had withdrawn into her thoughts, forgetting about his presence entirely. The uncomfortable reminder served to renew her anger at him.

Perhaps she no longer held romantic feelings towards him, perhaps she did: it was almost immaterial. He'd hurt her anyway; she had been waiting for him since she was twelve years old after all, and he'd childishly chosen to kiss her dorm mate as a some kind of petty revenge for her kissing someone else two years earlier.

A vindictive little part of her yearned to prove him wrong, to take some small sort of revenge.

 _Was that natural?_ She opened the door to the last classroom they had to check, as she wondered if all women had a vengeful, possessive streak in them.

A sense that, even if they no longer wanted that person, they still wanted to be wanted. To be thought desirable. She had repressed that side of her for a long time, trying to make people take her seriously.

"Better go and report to Pucey then," Ron muttered, and Hermione froze. She'd forgotten that the rota of who they reported to had changed on its monthly cycle, and that she would have to see him instead of the Head Girl.

"I'm just going to go to the loo," she said, and walked swiftly down the dimly lit corridor. It was utterly ridiculous to be going to check that she looked all right, and she berated herself for it but could not help having a quick look in the mirror and thanking Merlin that there was so much one could do with a wand so quickly. Looking remarkably refreshed; her hair tumbling freely in its natural, unruly reminder of passion, eyelashes slightly thicker and darker and her mouth looking just that bit more kissable, she returned to where Ron was waiting impatiently.

He gave her an odd look, but appeared to decide that it must be for his benefit, and puffed up slightly, sending her an arrogant smile. She rolled her eyes and then wondered if it was too obvious and why, if she'd decided not to go, she cared about how she looked in front of the Head Boy.

The walk down to where the Heads had their offices, off a corridor quite near the library, seemed to take forever. The silence did nothing to alleviate the tension and anticipation building in her stomach and chest, expanding like a balloon that was slowly but steadily being pumped with more air than it could physically stretch to hold.

What would he say? Would he give any hint as to their familiarity? Or would he just pretend that she was nothing and wait for her to appear in his room? She tried to remember if he had ever given her reason to think he found her attractive when they'd reported after patrolling the previous month and could not.

And then, all too soon despite the seemingly endless walk, they were outside the heavy oak door with the neat brass plaque reading Head Boy in elegant copperplate letters. Ron knocked on the door and His sultry, arrogant drawl ordered them to enter.

"Ah... Weasley, He- Granger," he greeted, giving her a wicked smile. "Patrol all done?"

"Er yeah, there were no problems or people or anything," Ron muttered, clearly eager to get back to the tower.

"Good. Granger can I have a word?"

She nodded reluctantly. "Ron? Would you wait for me just outside?" she prompted.

"What do you need to talk to this git for, Hermione?" She couldn't read his expression but he seemed irritated at the thought, perhaps recalling her conversation with Ginny in the Gryffindor Common Room. He certainly looked less smug.

"I'm sure I'll find out in a minute." She glared at him at, and he set his jaw stubbornly. Adrian waved his wand idly, and the door swung open.

"Get out, Weasley, or I'll give you a week of detentions," he commanded lazily, but with the kind of superior tone that made Ron's ears flush magenta and forced him to obey.

She waited for the door to shut, before rounding on Adrian. "What do you want?"

"Come here, kitten. I just wanted a moment alone with you." He was standing next to her all too quickly, and she whipped her wand out, pressing it against his chest.

"Wait. You- earlier, you did something to me with those lights. What was it?"

"Ah, my little lioness, I sometimes forget how brilliant you are. The lights did nothing more than make you relax a bit, take away your fears and allow me to approach you. I removed them before I kissed you- their effect was long over by the time you were begging me for release." He smiled that smile filled with the promise of sin and she felt that aching, melting excitement grow inside her.

"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, lowering her wand and turning her head. "I don't understand."

"We'll talk later." He took her chin and turned her back to face him. And then his lips were on hers again and she was instantly lost once more in that place of heat and desire, where the world seemed to vanish. She only pulled away from him when they were disturbed by a knock on the door, but he held her close and stared down at her.

He looked almost vulnerable when he asked, "Hermione, are you going to come tonight?"

The vulnerability was her undoing and, powerless to refuse, she nodded, and he gave her one last, fierce kiss before stepping back behind his desk.

"Take that book- cover story," he said, as he quickly levitated a heavy tome towards her. "Though Hecate knows you look thoroughly ravished. Even an idiot like Weasley might notice. I will see you in forty five minutes. Don't be late- I've waited long enough."

"Yes," she said, "Yes - I'll be there."

 _Carpe diem._

[She would go, because he made her feel desire she had never felt before, because he aroused her curiosity, because he was a challenge, because she'd always thought he was gorgeous and even bookworms were allowed to be naughty, because Ron had let her down, because Ginny had said he'd never look twice at her, and most of all because she wanted to go. She wanted him to show her all the pleasures her promised with his knowing eyes and smirking lips.]

She'd always been insatiably curious… and this was just another kind of knowledge.

Even if it was just one night.

Ron was standing outside, a black look upon his face.

"What took you so long?" he asked angrily, eyeing her reddened lips and messy hair.

"We were talking about books, Ron. Nothing very exciting."

"I didn't know you and Pucey were all… friendly."

"Well, Ron, there's a lot of things you don't know about me." Like the fact that I'm going to have sex tonight, even though a little part of me is so nervous and scared, and you would certainly not imagine how excited I am about it and how long I've wanted this- or for how long I waited for you to wake up.

You idiot.

He glowered silently as they walked back to the tower, and Hermione muttered something about going to bed early and hurried up to her dorm room. She opened the window, and summoned Harry's invisibility cloak half-heartedly, not believing it could be that easy.

She was surprised when it floated in, wraithlike and translucent, through the open window, settling over her hands and hiding them from view. After six years of using the cloak, she still hadn't adjusted to how disturbing it was to watch your body parts vanish so entirely from sight. To still feel something but not see it was an experience that often turned her stomach. All the same it was relief that it'd been so easy to get the cloak. The map proved just as easy, and she hoped Harry wouldn't want to use it that night.

.

. .

.

Checking her watch for the fourteenth time in as many minutes since she had left his office, Hermione sorted through her trunk trying desperately to find something suitable to wear. She pulled on about three outfits before she decided she was being absurd, laughable, too obvious, embarrassing, and changing back into her school uniform.

She made the minor concessions of spraying on a little perfume and checking her legs were smooth, but refused to cake herself in make-up for the occasion. The little spells from earlier were enough.

After all, it wouldn't stay on long- or at least she imagined not. She finally stood in front of the mirror, staring at her pale reflection, but feeling calm and determined. The other girls would be up very soon; it was ten to eleven. She had to go before they came up.

Drawing the curtains around her bed and making it look slept in were the work of a moment with her wand, and then she was ready; sliding under the Invisibility cloak and checking the map. There were very few people left in the common room, although Harry, Ginny, Lavender and Ron were all there sitting snugly by the fire. The sight of the cosy foursome chased away any lingering doubts and, after putting cushioning and silencing charms on her feet, she quietly slipped out of Gryffindor tower, hoping that no one would notice the Fat Lady swing open and closed.

The walk alone to the dungeons was preoccupied by doubts; Hogwarts was filled with dark shadows, strange noises and only the odd torch or brazier burned to light the way. She passed several wandering ghosts who appeared to be unaware of her journey into the darkness of the dungeon. Did he really want her? Or was it some terrible joke? What on earth would she do if it was? She wouldn't be able to laugh it off, she'd have to say something about pretty boys having some uses. But no, that wouldn't work. She felt like a lamb going to the slaughter, or Persephone willingly returning to Hades and her dark Seigneur.

Outside the blank sheet of wall that was the hidden dungeon entrance, Hermione looked for a sign as to where the Head Boy's room was located. Pulling out the map again she scanned it, but it didn't appear to be marked. She supposed the Marauders had never had much reason to find the Slytherin head rooms.

She whispered, "Uror," hoping that it would work and then froze in fear when a black and silver door appeared on the opposite wall. It was too soon, she wasn't ready, and she panicked slightly, standing as though petrified in the corridor.

* * *

If anyone cares I think Adrian looks like Hayden Christensen in his prime...

What did you think?!


	2. Chapter 2

Smut ahead. Stop and go back if you're underage. That said, I've toned it down a bit. Raw version at GE. Very light BDSM.

* * *

 _She whispered, "Uror," hoping that it would work and then froze in fear when a black and silver door appeared on the opposite wall. It was too soon, she wasn't ready, and she panicked slightly, standing as though petrified in the corridor._

* * *

.

.

The door swung inwards, and he appeared, wearing only his school trousers which hung low off his hips. The sight of his body made her blush; carved from marble, it was hard and defined and incredibly beautiful. She had never thought of the male form as a beautiful thing before that moment, but he was perfectly shaped - all sinuous muscle and smooth edges, and she found herself short of breath.

His eyes raked the corridor and then he muttered a low oath and kicked the door frame. Of course. She had almost forgotten that she was invisible. Surprised by the furious look on his face, which mingled with- hurt perhaps? Was that too arrogant to think? - she pulled the cloak off slowly.

"Adrian," she whispered, unsure of what to do, how to act.

 _She'd come_. The relief he felt as he watched her become visible was too strong, and he pushed it away. She was still in her uniform; her slender, coltish legs were too long for her school skirt now, and her breasts pressed enticingly against her shirt. The torches cast a flickering light over her, drenching her skin and eyes in fire and shadow.

He wordlessly stepped aside and, after a moment of hesitation, she walked through into his bedchamber, and he followed, sealing the door from any intruders.

She stopped just inside: to take in the room, he assumed. It was quite spectacular, after all. A huge four poster bed hung in dark green silk, the cold stone floor barely made hospitable by a few scattered rugs and several piles of books carelessly cast over the room, and weighing down the dark, old fashioned desk. The high stone walls were hung with tapestries and a huge mirror dominated the far wall.

A fire blazed out of an enormous fireplace, warming the room slightly, although he saw the tiny bumps scattered over her arms and neck. Was she cold, or frightened?

"Are you a virgin, Hermione?" he asked softly, deliberately breathing his words into her ear and pressing himself against the lush curves of her behind. She nodded. He slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her even closer, desperate to feel her moulded against him. With his bared chest, he could feel the heat of her body through the thin cotton of her shirt, which grazed his hardened nipples in a teasing, whispered promise.

"You will do everything I tell you to," he commanded, running one hand down the arch of her waist and across her hips. "Say it." He coiled the other in her hair, lifting it away from her graceful neck, and pressing his lips against it.

"I- I will do everything you tell me to do," she stammered and he watched the dusky pink heat rise over her collar. He ran his tongue along her jugular vein, and felt the pulsing, racing beat of her heart beneath the surface quicken.

"Go and stand in front of the mirror," he ordered. She walked slowly over to the great, gilded looking-glass that leaned against the wall. It was nine foot high, almost floor to ceiling, and would reflect every delicious inch of her body as she revealed it.

He followed her, standing close behind her but not enough to touch, so that he could watch her as she willingly surrendered her body to him, and still keep her anticipating when exactly he would close the distance between them.

"Unbutton your shirt."

Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the first button, her dark eyes refusing to meet his as he watched her reflection in the polished surface.

"Look at me," he said lowly, his breath heating her neck. He wanted to make her give herself, all of herself, over to him. He would own her after this night; spoil her for any other man. She would remember this for a lifetime, and spend the rest of it seeking out the pleasure he would give her as she submitted to him.

Her brown eyes rose to meet his in the mirror, pupils huge and black. They looked stunning together, the rose tint to her cheeks and her dark hair and eyes contrasting with his pale honey skin, his dark golden hair and cold grey-green eyes.

Her fingers trembled around the second button, the third, and he glimpsed her breasts for the first time. Her pale skin rose in perfect mounds, and the fourth and fifth revealed the pale pink lace hiding the rest from him.

She continued down the line slowly, willingly, revealing more of herself to him until her shirt gaped open and her tie fell between the beautiful breasts, and down to where the fine boned ribs rose over her flat, smooth stomach and narrow waist. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he had imagined, and he kissed her neck, sucking and biting it while his hands ran over those soft curves, revelling in the feel of her silken skin, which trembled at his touch.

He kept his eyes fixed on hers as he claimed her neck, leaving his mark for all to see. She was doe-eyed in the dusky light, and trapped in his gaze.

"Now take off your shoes and socks." He stepped back again, and she hesitantly bent over in front of him, the grey woollen skirt rising up her thighs, revealing more of the creamy flesh he longed to taste, to bite, to mar and mark. She kicked aside her shoes and pulled off the grey, knee high socks. Her calves and feet were as beautifully formed as her breasts and thighs, delicate and elegant.

"Turn around," he ordered and she obeyed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, exposing her arousal. He pulled her shirt off, enjoying the touch of every satiny inch of skin as he did so.

"Adrian, I-" she said, and he pressed a finger to her lips, tracing their outline gently and then bending his head to kiss them.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her cruelly, forcing her to relinquish all power to him.

"Yes." Her voice was hoarse, husky, and the answer made his cock press against his trousers. He lifted her skirt, running his hands up to feel the lace hiding her little mound once again. She stiffened, perhaps remembering what unspeakable, sinful pleasure he could bring her with his fingers. He pulled her soaking knickers down to her knees and pushed his finger inside her.

She was soaking already, and he ripped the lace away with his free hand. She gasped and unconsciously propelled her hips forward. He withdrew the dripping finger from her tight heat and pressed it to her lips, running it over them.

"Taste." Her lips parted slowly, eyes wide with shock, and he pushed the finger inside: a crude imitation of fucking her mouth. The sight and feel of her plump, pouting red lips around his finger was almost too much, and he fought for control. "Now touch yourself," he ordered her silkily. "Lift your skirt, and let me watch you."

"I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "Please don't make me do- _that_."

"Hermione," his voice was coldly seductive and authoritarian, "touch yourself. Don't you trust me?"

Her eyes filled with shame and arousal, and she turned her face to the side, breaking eye contact with him as she brought her hand up to touch herself.

"Stop," he said. "Turn around again. I want you to see yourself."

"Oh god," she said softly. "Adrian-"

" _Turn around_."

She obeyed him, and he had to rub his cock through his trousers, fighting the urge to throw her against the wall and drive into her. But he could not; he would take her slowly and make her remember this. He would not take her, as he had taken her kisses and control on the ledge; this time she would give herself to him.

She had her skirt hiked up around her waist now, and he stared at the pink slit peeking out of her neat, dark curls. It was glistening and he wanted to touch it, taste it. Achingly slowly, she began to stroke up and down the slit with a single finger, her eyes cast down in shame.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes again for a moment, admiring the dark blush on her cheeks and décolleté, before allowing himself to watch her hands once again. She was circling her clit with two fingers, speeding up despite herself, and he stifled a moan; there had never been a more enticing sight. No other man would be the first to see the Gryffindor golden girl touch herself, be the first to taste her salty sweetness, be the first to enter her.

He pulled her breasts out of her bra and began to knead her them, to pinch her nipples into hard, aching peaks, pressing his cock into her back. He whispered all that he would or could do to her into her ear and marked her neck with hard, vicious bites.

"Good girl," he hissed and she began to tremble, her legs shaking and her lips bitten as she unsuccessfully tried to hide the moans of pleasure that began to escape as she climbed towards her peak.

"Stop," he ordered again and she obeyed, moaning in protest. He would be the one to make her come, as he had earlier that evening. He slid her bra from her chest with practiced fingers and began to unbuckle her woollen school skirt.

"I'm going to take you very soon, my pretty little Mudblood," he promised, as he let the last cover of clothing drop to the floor. She cried out and said something, but he didn't hear her, too absorbed in the sight of her exquisite body at last exposed to him. She was completely naked before him, with the exception of her Gryffindor tie which hung down between the luscious globes of her breasts.

She stood, trapped in the circle of his arms, and he pressed himself into her, running his hands over her creamy, pink flesh as she writhed and twisted, begging him for more and more with her body and her words.

Forcing himself to stop, he pulled her tie off, smiling into her curious, innocent, desire-clouded eyes. She had reached the point at which self-consciousness had given way to wanting; her inhibitions had been left behind when she had lifted her skirt and showed her most private actions to him. He imagined wrapping the silken tie around her wrists, holding her arms behind her, forcing her breasts to jut forward- but that would have to wait; she was not yet ready for that…or perhaps… he picked her up and carried her over to the imposing bed.

His wand was on the bedside table, and he took it, twirling it in his fingers as he stood over her bared body.

She began to sit up, but he flicked his wand and snaky coils streamed out, wrapping themselves around her wrists and fixing her to the tall posts at the head of the bed. She began to tug on the bonds, telling him _no_ , she didn't like it, to untie her but he just smiled and watched as she became accustomed to it.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked again, making her to give to him freely what he could take with ease. But in the gift he gained a far greater power over her. She would never be able to excuse this night, to convince herself that he seduced her. She had come to him, she had given over the power and control to him. Willingly.

.

.

"Do you trust me?"

She stared into those taunting eyes, wondering if she did. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. Even touching herself in front of him did not compare to this physical restraint. She was entirely at his mercy now, and he asked if she trusted him?

Before she could think too long, the words blurted out of their own accord. "Yes, yes- I trust you."

He sat on the edge of the bed, bending to kiss her with all the dominance he'd had on the ledge and in his office. It was a plundering, all-consuming kiss, and she began to arch against him, desperately needing him closer. He moved his rough, Quidditch calloused hands down her body, teasing her breasts and nipples, learning every curve, and she was wrenching madly against the unbreakable silken bonds before he finally reached her centre. Maddeningly, so frustrating she wanted to scream, he stopped again.

"What do you want me to do, Hermione?"

Oh gods, he was going to make her say it. Was there no end to his cruelty?

"Please, Adrian- I need you _there_."

"Come on, little one, say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you. To your hot little pussy."

"Touch my p-pussy, please," she said softly, dark red staining her cheeks. He laughed at her, but gently, and obeyed, sliding two fingers into her, and plunging them in and out until she was at that champagne-place again, almost over the edge of her climax, and there were tears on her face, and she was shaking. His fingers inside her brought waves of pleasure, a sensation of being filled and yet needing more, which was unlike anything her own fingers had ever given her.

"Not yet, my little kitten," he whispered, stilling them within her. "You must ask for it."

"Please, Adrian. Not again, _please_ ," she sobbed with need, pushing against his hand and rubbing herself against him, trying to gain that long-needed release.

"You must beg me if you want to come, Hermione."

"Please, Adrian, please, I need- I need to come, please-" She was incoherent with desire, all thoughts of pride or self-consciousness gone. He bent his head and licked her, and the touch of his hot tongue against her hyper-sensitive clit made her cry out in shock and finally she came on his tongue, shaking with the exquisite pleasure of frustrated lust sated at last.

"Thank you," she murmured to him, dazed.

"You love this don't you? Giving it all to a Slytherin." His hands circled her neck, "Showing me how depraved and dirty you are underneath that bookworm covering."

He covered her mouth with his before she could answer or protest. After blindly reached for his wand from where he had carelessly tossed it without breaking the kiss, he pulled away and removed the bonds with a whispered word.

"Yes - please Adrian - I'm ready."

"Turn over," he commanded. She obeyed silently. She had learnt already that his orders led to unbelievable sexual fulfillment, even if they seemed cruel or demeaning.

"Raise your arms above your head." She couldn't see him now, but his breath was hot on the back on her neck and she could feel his eyes staring into her naked back.

And then came that whispered word again, and her hands were tied, and her legs pulled apart, and she was stuck on her knees, completely bared towards him. He slid a finger into her still-wet heat, twisting it gently and she wondered what he was doing, what he could possibly be waiting for. And then it was gone for a moment, but no - it pressed against her arsehole, insistent, instantly painful, and she pushed against it, screaming words of protest. It was too much, too degrading, she could not… but the finger in her arse was sliding in more easily even as she fought it, and- _gods_ it felt weird but amazing as he bent it inside her, and she felt herself grow wet again. Distracted by the alien intrusion and the new feelings it brought, she didn't notice him shift behind her, didn't realise that he had cast his trousers aside, until something much larger began to push into her soaking pussy. The pain came sharply, but he diverted her attention from it, and lessened it by thrusting his finger deeper into her arse, holding still until her muttered gasps and moans of pain turned into pleasure and he could remove it.

"Gods yes, you feel amazing, so tight my little witch. Waited so long," he groaned.

His deep thrusts made her feel as though she was being split in two; there had never been such beautiful pain. The pace increased, as he roughly powered into her, making her strain against her bindings.

She found herself spewing words uncontrollably, telling him that she wanted it harder, that it felt amazing, that she loved it and begging him not to stop, to never stop.

He forced himself to halt, her burning tightness holding him. He wanted to see her face as he came inside her, needed to own her. Removing the bindings, he slowly pulled out, teasing her with every inch and rubbing the head against her swollen nub. He was so close that it was almost painful, his cock red and hard and throbbing.

"Adrian what are you-" she began, but he interrupted her, needing to be back inside that paradisiacal place.

"Turn over," he ordered her, voice strained and hoarse. "I need to see you." She obeyed him unquestioningly once more; she would do anything at that moment to have him back inside her. She'd heard such horror stories about losing your virginity, but there had been nothing but a sublime, indescribable tumult of sense and feeling.

This was better, so much better, than she had imagined and now, finally, she understood why people risked so much for sensual delight.

He seemed to tower over her, and she blushed as she saw his cock- it seemed huge and angry but surprisingly beautiful. Had that really been inside her? She couldn't believe such a thing would fit.

"It's- huge," she blurted out, and he laughed down at her again, bending his head to kiss her.

"So sweet, my little witch," he murmured against her lips as he slid inside her. "Tell me that you're mine, Hermione." He stopped again, half-inside, displaying unbelievable self-control as he waited for her response. "Say it; tell me that you belong to me."

"Yours, yes Adrian, always- please, I need- hurry."

He moved inside her again, building up the speed until he could hold himself in check no longer, and he came with a strangled cry of, "Mine, mine, mine- always," as he slumped forward in blissful release.

She began to stroke his hair, feeling more drained and happy and glowing that she could ever remember. _So that was sex_ , she reflected as she slipped into unconsciousness, her last thought of warmth and safety as he pulled the duvet over their naked bodies.

For Adrian, sleep came more slowly. He stared down at the slender girl wrapped in his arms and wondered why he had ever bothered with another girl. She was more beautiful, magnificent, and gods she was a natural in bed. He'd never, ever allowed a girl to sleep in his bed before that night, but he couldn't bear to not be touching her, couldn't bare the thought of her returning to her dormitory, couldn't bear that she might think he had used her.

And, unlike with any past girl, he couldn't bear the thought of not having her again. What a fool he was, a blessed fool: all he had done by giving into his desire for her was cement it more firmly within him. He felt such tenderness as he stared down at her face, at her innocent, sated smile of harmony as she slept. She was probably exhausted, he thought, pulling her closer. _Gods she was amazing_.

And as she slept unknowing, he realised that perhaps there were things worth dying for, and that he might love this clever, beautiful, sexy witch- _love_. Adrian wasn't entirely sure what love was, but he had never felt the things she made him feel for anyone else. He had never felt tenderness towards, or had a particular desire to protect anything before. He kissed her hair, memorising the sweet honeyed scent of her skin and hair and tested the words, words he had never spoken to anyone except his mother.

"I- love you," he said softly, almost under his breath, and then froze, terrified she might have heard, but she slept on, oblivious. But no matter, he had said the words.

And, he decided, with mingled horror and elation, he had meant them. Really, truly meant them. Choosing a side in the war, choosing a House over a person- they seemed ridiculous in that moment. There could be nothing but Hermione, nothing but this moment, and he would fight anything to keep her there with him.

The world could accept it, or go to hell. Especially her stupid little friends.

But the doubts grew: he could tell the rest of the world to fuck themselves- but what if she didn't accept it? What if she felt nothing, had just wanted him for a night? His brave, brilliant witch might not truly want him, might not want to risk her reputation on a Slytherin of dubious allegiance. Filled with insecurities previously alien to him, he drifted into a restless sleep.

.

.

He woke first the next morning and slowly got out of bed to light the fire and check the time, trying not to disturb her. It was only eight; he did not have to get up for another half hour, although he supposed Hermione should get back to her dorm.

But he couldn't bear to wake her, she looked so peaceful, and instead he climbed back in beside her, grateful for the warmth of her body. The dungeons were icy cold in the mornings, and even in early September he had had to light a fire in his room to ward of the night-time chill. Perhaps feeling him watching her, she began to stir. She looked unbearably adorable in the soft light, her eyes soft with sleep and hair tousled; he wanted to kiss her.

"Morning little one," he murmured, pulling her against him. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I usually wake up early to read over my chapters for class," she said, her voice husky, and then her eyes widened. "Oh! I've just- last night-" She blushed, obviously remembering where she was.

"Last night was incredible. _You_ were incredible." He took advantage of her dazed state to kiss her again, properly this time, and pull her naked body even closer in his arms.

"Adrian," she pulled away, "I need to go back to the Tower- I didn't mean to fall asleep." She blushed again, how he adored that dusky flush- it was so sweet, so sexy, "Was I really, you know… all right?"

"Hermione, you were fine - better than fine, you were… beautiful." He heard the words as though they came from a stranger, and part of him felt disgusted. Where was his Slytherin pride? Why was he not thanking her, giving her a quick pat on the fanny, and tossing her out?

She looked slightly regretful, and at least unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed, as she said again that she had to go.

"Stay," he murmured, toying with her hair. "Who cares what people think?"

"I do, I suppose. Last night was- lovely…" she had no idea of the etiquette needed after sex; should she thank him? Surely that would be rude?

But how did one just leave? Part of her wished that she had woken first so that she could have snuck out as he slept. But then she would never have heard him say that she was beautiful and good at sex.

"It was more than lovely, my pretty innocent. Is there anything you're bad at?" He was laughing at her again, and she glanced up into his teasing eyes, surprised at the warmth they held.

"I can't sing, or fly," she smiled ruefully; his amusement was infectious. "I suppose I'm not always very good at being sociable, either. Too bossy." Why was she talking to him?

She needed to leave, he wouldn't be interested in… _sharing_. Oh but there was one thing, she remembered, that she had desperately wanted to ask. It _was_ slightly odd but... "Adrian what's your password from?"

" _Uror_? It's from Ovid. Polyphemus and Galicia. Translated, roughly, as, _For_ _I burn, and as I am thwarted, I burn all the more._ You are odd to think of that now." He sounded amused again, and she felt a little embarrassed.

"Oh- I thought it sounded familiar, that's all. Sorry for being a bit random. What time is it?" She looked at her watch, "Oh Merlin, I really do have to go!"

Academic curiosity satisfied, she prepared to leave the warm cocoon of heat, and the delicious sensation of his body rubbing against hers.

He sighed and released his arms.

"How are you going to get into Gryffindor tower unseen?" Why could he not just grab her hand and tell her than he wanted her to stay, to at least return later, tell her that he didn't care if her blood was green or purple or orange, as long as he could have her to talk to, to kiss, to hold whenever he wanted.

"I've borrowed an invisibility cloak," she said, hoping he wouldn't ask too many questions. He frowned, but nodded.

"I won't ask whose it is- I think it's best I don't know" He was back to being her charming, slightly distanced Head Boy and she felt a stinging loss. For a moment that morning she had felt that there might have been something _more_ , something precious, but it was gone and she had to escape.

He summoned something from the mantelpiece, a small vial, and offered it to her. "Contraceptive potion," he explained. The atmosphere had changed in the room. No, it was him; he had withdrawn somehow, and she forced herself to drink it casually, then get out of the bed, furiously embarrassed by her nudity, and pick up her clothes.

"Why the blushes, little one? I saw everything last night, remember." He sounded less amused and more callous, and she lifted her chin proudly. Let him look then, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

"You are so beautiful," he added in a softer tone.

 _Beautiful_. No boy had ever called her that before him. Pretty, occasionally, but not beautiful. But then he probably said that to every girl, she reminded herself. This was Adrian Pucey and even if he himself looked so gloriously beautiful, as he lay sprawled gracefully across his bed, that her heart ached a little… she would just have to push that aside.

She couldn't allow herself to be fanciful about him; she had chosen to sleep with him, to give him her virginity, but that was it. His reputation was enough of a warning; too many girls had spent their lunchtimes sobbing in the girls' toilets because he had seduced them and then as good as ignored them later. Hermione couldn't find her knickers anywhere, and didn't dare ask him, so she pulled her socks on and picked up the invisibility cloak from where she had dropped it as she'd entered.

"Well- I suppose I'll see you later then," she muttered awkwardly.

"No kiss, little one? Alright, hurry back to your tower and your knights," he sneered, seeming angry suddenly, and she wondered what had changed. She pulled the cloak on silently, picked up the Map, and raced up to the Tower, mercifully going unnoticed.

It was almost eight thirty when she finally got into her dorm, and all she had time for was a quick change into her clean uniform, gathering her books, and fleeing to breakfast. She sat down breathlessly opposite Ginny and Ron and next to Harry, greeting them all as she grabbed a piece of toast, suddenly starving.

"You're out of breath, did you oversleep?" Ginny asked, poking at her fruit salad.

"Er, yes, didn't get much sleep." Hermione felt him enter the room before she saw him; her body seemed to be hyper-aware of Adrian's presence. He sat down in his usual place, almost opposite her on the other side of the Hall, and sent her a burning look. She felt her cheeks heat- no one else had ever made her flush so much and so easily- and dropped her gaze.

"I thought you went to bed early?" Ginny interrupted her thoughts.

"Well, I did but I, erm, started reading, and then I was awake for hours," she fabricated quickly, wincing at the poor lie. Aware of her disheveled appearance, she pulled her hair up into a pony-tail and began to redo her tie.

"Oh my gods, Hermione what is _that?_ "

She looked behind her, confused.

"What's what?"

"The _thing_ on your neck."

 _Adrian, biting on her neck, kissing and sucking on it… marking her_. Oh gods. Her hand flew to her neck, and she sent a terrified look across the hall.

"It's nothing, Ginny," she hissed. "Drop it."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ron countered, his ears beginning to turn crimson. She stood up, letting her hair fall over her neck, glared at Adrian, and left the room.

She'd have to fix it before lessons - _how embarrassing_. She hurried up to the girls' bathroom nearest the Great Hall, and flinched as she looked in the mirror. The mark was dark red and raw looking- how on earth could she have missed it? She would never be able to explain this away. Feeling slightly sick, she began to heal it.

Adrian watched Hermione's hand fly to her neck, her expression of shocked horror priceless, and thought gleefully of the unintentional opportunity he had given himself. She hurried from the hall, and after a few moments of discussion her silly little friends stood as well. He followed suit, long legs eating up the ground as he strode after them.

The resolve that had come over him in the night had returned with the yearning look she'd sent him over breakfast. She wanted him, and if she didn't, he'd damn well make her. After all, she'd submitted easily enough the previous night, and therefore there must be some reasonably long-lasting attraction to him.

She was far less inhibited, far sexier than he'd imagined, but she was still Hermione Granger. He had withdrawn that morning, and become callous to her, scared by the depth of his feelings but the memory of her awkwardness as she left, the sight of her rushing into breakfast- glowing and looking thoroughly shagged- made him regret his hasty coldness.

They seemed to know where she had run off to- he saw them turn in the direction of the girls' lavatory- and he quickly caught up before they could enter, drawing their attention. The red-headed boy angrily stepped towards him. He was- jealous perhaps? Had he put two and two together and actually made four? The thought of his jealousy made Adrian's blood heat; this was the pathetic specimen he had watched Hermione lust over; _this_ was the person she had thought right for her.

"What do you want, Pucey?"

"Get out of my way, you little twerp," Adrian snarled arrogantly, and used his superior height and strength to push past the boy and open the door. "Kitten?" he called out softly, hoping she was not upset.

"What the fuck is this, Adrian? Thanks for telling me." She was standing, wand to neck, removing the love-bite.

He stepped closer to her, hardly caring that her friends could see and hear everything, and pushed the wand away, kissing the mark.

"Who cares? Let them see. I want you, and everyone else can go to hell." He was really burning his bridges now, but no matter.

Some things in life were worth sacrificing for, as he had so recently learnt, and she was worth every drop of his life blood. His obsession with her had turned to love somewhere along the way- how had he not noticed? - and he would love her as fiercely as he had lusted for her, and for far longer. He took her hand and pulled her towards him.

"Hermione- _what_?" the disbelieving, horrified comment came this time from Harry. Hermione swung around in shock - she hadn't noticed them enter after Adrian.

Yet again, his mere presence was enough to absorb her entirely and make her forget her surroundings. Harry looked stupefied, Ron appeared to be imitating a fish, mouth open and face dark red with anger, or jealousy. Ginny was white-faced, but amused.

"For fuck's sake, do you lot ever leave her alone?" Adrian cut in. "I want to kiss my witch, and yet there you are. Go on, bugger off."

"What have you done to her? If you've touched her I'll-"

"Oh shut up Ron!" Ginny said shrilly. "Still, _Pucey_ Hermione? So that's where you were last night…"

"Get out of my sight, you jealous little bitch," Adrian snapped at her, but Hermione silenced him.

"Look, I'm sorry, but can you three go away? We'll talk later, but I – I need to talk to Adrian for now."

After a few more bitter exchanges, Ginny lost her temper with her brother and silenced him before dragging him out of the room, and Hermione was alone with him.

"I'm sorry I was cold this morning," he began. "This isn't really the place to do it, but- I meant what I said. You're mine, I've wanted you for so long. More than _want_ , or lust, or like. I can't- can't put a name to it yet but," he raked a hand through his hair in frustration, and she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

"Shh, I understand. I want you, too, Adrian. I just never thought someone like you would want me- I'm a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor and, well, a bit of a know-it-all," she trailed off.

"I knew all that before I shagged you, Granger. Meet me in my room at lunch?" he grinned wickedly at her.

"I can't, I have to go over my potions essay."

"Wrong answer, little one," he growled, and pushed her against the wall.

The world could wait, but when they emerged it would be together. And one day, perhaps it would take months, but one day he would confess the depths of his feelings - and she might return them.

* * *

Originally I had Ginny as an even bigger bitch but these days I think of her as a pretty supportive friend to Hermione. I love Ginny. Sorry I wrote you so meanly for so long Gin. You genuinely rock.

Hope you enjoyed. It's a bit immature (like I wrote it years ago for a fuh-q-fest) but I think it's still quite hot so whatever. Gothic parody is the best genre.


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